


lịfelịne

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Masturbation, Medical Experimentation, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Masturbation, Mystery, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24628141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: Swamped with a heavy caseload and worried about Bright, Gil brings him in to investigate an accident on a subway platform. Busying himself looking out for everyone else, Gil attempts to balance memories of his wife with living in the present, while Bright keeps an eye out for Gil.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Gil Arroyo/Jackie Arroyo
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this will be a longer fic with regular updates coming

Gil’s office door might as well have said _Herder of Cats_ , _Chief Wrangler_ emblazoned right underneath in worn pewter. JT and Dani split between two different cases, he’d get pulled out into the field himself if anything else came in. On top of that, his kid kept calling, texting, wondering how he could get in the game to help them.

Or, more likely, keep himself from spinning out.

Which Gil wasn’t convinced wasn’t already happening. He didn’t have anything that needed a profiler, and left to his own mind, Malcolm was one new hobby attempt away from braining himself. As much as he didn't want to be accused of treating him like a child, if he heard juggling swords was the next endeavor, he was going to have to put a stop to his antics. He didn’t have Jackie’s patience — he couldn’t stomach letting him get hurt first to teach him a lesson if it was avoidable. Barely making it through one death, he wouldn’t survive another.

So when a new request came in that gave him a chance to whack two concerns at once, he picked up his phone without any hesitation. Told the profiler to get his ass into the precinct and quit horsing around. Gave him a little more grit than was necessary, but got the point across.

 _Why don’t you spend more time at home?_ everyone inquired. _Why don’t you grow your personal life?_

Because he had his hands full looking out for everyone else.

* * *

Called into Gil’s office, Malcolm brought along his stress ball to try to hide his fidgeting. Not a scene, not the field, not the conference room — Gil’s office. What had he done now? Was his enthusiasm about coming in too much? He’d only given him a daily call and what…five texts? Maybe more…

“I’ve got some footage to show you,” Gil explained, his voice steady with a confidence Malcolm didn't feel.

Not angry. Not frustrated. Just normal Gil. “So, I’m not in trouble?” Malcolm asked, squeezing the blue rubber in his hand like he was inflating a balloon with his jitters.

“Is there something on your conscience?” Gil questioned, watching Malcolm's hands, leaving Malcolm wondering what his assessment was.

He shook his head. After three-quarters of the year’s events, meds he still couldn't get quite right despite recurring insistence that _this time it’ll be it_ , enough manic energy to stay awake for a week, enough guilt for...this lifetime at least, but he hadn't done anything too out of character to seriously upset Gil. Not that his body language was successfully projecting any of that. Restless fingers made him seem guilty.

“Then, let’s take a look.” With a quick smile designed to assuage stress that had no effect, Gil turned his monitor toward Malcolm. “Woman, Tara Jensen. Twenty-four. She was waiting for the train, and someone knocked her in front of it. Edrisa's examining her now.”

Amongst a sea of other commuters, the video showed Tara standing at the far side of the platform. Dark hair and a black peacoat, a stark contrast against the backdrop of white subway tiles. Two men tussled nearby, then one of them rammed into the other, and she was pushed off, out of sight of the camera.

"Bystander,” Malcolm shared his observations. Unfortunate fall that ended in a young woman dead.

Gil turned his monitor back. “Two guys are downstairs, and neither one of them are talking."

"Reckless behavior. But an accident. Why be quiet?" The faster they talked, the faster they would get out of there, the faster the precinct's limited energy could be focused on something more fruitful.

Gil shrugged. “Officers requested you.”

Malcolm held both hands to his chest, eyes wide in pleasant surprise. He'd not only gotten called in for a case, but by special invitation? That was a first. Most folks at the FBI wanted him as far away as possible. If outer space was an option, they would have sent him there to float away with fellow space cadets, never to be seen again.

"Yes, you. Go."

Malcolm sped out of Gil’s office before he could change his mind.

* * *

Lenny and Wes had adjoining accommodations in interrogation, fancier than the subway station they'd been brought in from that Malcolm had seen on video. Though the men looked vastly different, Lenny tall and slender with a dark fade and Wes average height and muscular with wild blond curls, their responses remained similar.

They didn’t know her. Each of Lenny's lanky movements emphasized his swimming in a loose polo, fumbling for answers. Even his name garnered a _whoosh_ around the pool.

They barely knew each other. Wes' arms folded over and tucked into his elbows, his biceps straining inside his black t-shirt. Knowledge of Lenny started and ended at his first name, not even providing a last.

No one was at fault. A statement they were sure to reinforce at any opportunity, grinding it into the linoleum under well-loved sneakers until it squeaked. Malcolm's Oxfords clicked as he moved between the two rooms, a metronome pointedly tsking how much he didn't believe either of the men. In a display of skill, he kept the knowledge tightly wrapped beneath his suit.

A woman was dead. Concealing bits of answers to each of Malcolm's questions as subtly as two teenagers caught for drugs while hiding the rest of the party, they didn't seem to care. Something any officer could have deduced — certainly Adams and Spears were capable, or Gil wouldn't have listened to them.

Why had Gil called him in, exactly? His profiling skills were a grenade for a daddy longlegs and a wooly bear.

Because Malcolm was wanted. Because he was _needed_. Because staying inside his loft alone right now with nowhere for his thoughts to go was a _terrible_ idea.

Was this a pity call? Gil keeping an eye on him?

At the moment, he didn’t care. Work meant purpose, and purpose meant another day of life winning out over demons crawling through the folds of his mind, greedy piranhas looking for a sumptuous snack.

Drilling questions into them until he came up dry, Malcolm kept himself busy ’til lunch before conceding he wasn't getting anywhere and went back to Gil to admit defeat. 

* * *

Waltzing into Gil's office, blinds rattling behind him, one thing was clear. "They're lying,” Malcolm announced, not bothering to sit down.

"The officers could tell that much." Engrossed in a case report, Gil didn’t look away from his monitor.

"They know each other,” he added, going methodically through the pieces of his observations with the uptempo _click, click_ of his tapping heel.

"Likely, based on pushing each other around and all." Seemingly uninterested in what he had said so far, Gil kept working.

"Then, why say they were only acquaintances?" A social distance greater than two men protecting each other over an accident.

"Maybe they are."

Malcolm shook his head and dug his fingers into his stress ball until his nails were hidden.

"So, look up how they knew the victim,” Gil directed like he needed to guide him step-by-step through every aspect of his job.

Mouth twisting in annoyance, Malcolm realized Gil could see his reactions in the corner of the monitor. That observation was low-tech, but he wouldn’t be surprised if there was a hidden camera in the office somewhere, too, perfect for spotting anyone who didn't belong or did something they shouldn't. Another upgrade since his mother's reentrance into their lives. “Don't I get JT and Dani to help me with this?" he asked, not accustomed to being on his own to investigate all aspects of a case.

Gil's gaze finally moved, meeting his with tired eyes that he hadn’t noticed in his earlier excitement. "Demonstrate it's something we need Major Crimes on, and you got it." Gil sighed, gesturing at his monitor. “I’m up to my eyeballs, kid.”

Malcolm looked at the floor, to his fingers squeezing into squishy blue rubber, to his jacket button that wasn't quite straight. "It’s more fun when I work with you guys,” he shared, the drone of interrogation, dare he say, lonely without another person to bounce off of. It was a weird feeling after how accustomed he’d gotten to working alone in the past.

“You miss us?” Gil’s eyebrow quirked at him.

“I guess.” Perhaps his want for another person fit the technical definition.

“Put that in the report. I’m sure my boss would appreciate it.” Gil turned back to his monitor, which made it seem like he wouldn't listen to Malcolm's requests any longer.

Maybe a joke fit the situation instead. "Right next to …”

“Get outta here,” he ordered over his shoulder, an underlying teasing lightness peeking through in his tone.

Malcolm listened, empathy for the caseload winning out over his own personal desires. He could be an adult and work all by his lonesome. Faced with that or back to his loft, it was the only viable option he had.

* * *

As much desk work as Malcolm had done in his early days at the FBI, it had been awhile since it was his primary focus. Usually, the team split research three or four ways, he working on any bits pertinent to the profile, the others taking whatever parts most interested them or just needed to be done. This time, he was on the hook for all of it, and Gil would give him a hard time if he produced anything less than a stellar job.

Maybe this was his opportunity to demonstrate he could be an even bigger asset to the NYPD. More scenes, get a vest, firearm privileges…

Pushing away his thoughts that might as well have been pipe dreams, he knew he was getting ahead of himself. He drove Gil up the wall most days, never mind his boss that would need to sign off on such a request.

First, the job at hand. Looking into both Lenny’s and Wes’ backgrounds, Malcolm didn’t find any connections to Tara. Two guys knocking into another stranger on the subway platform. Just as they said, bullshit as it sounded.

Each other, though? That got more interesting. They lived a few blocks apart. Didn’t work together or go to the same schools or anything, but their daily existence was in close proximity. Common grocery store? Library? Place of worship?

Where had they met?

The bus.

Which one?

Another lap of questions out and back, and he was looking at the 2 route. Why that one?

Quickest route from their apartments in Upper Manhattan to Grand Central or the Port Authority Bus Terminal via walk or transfer on the 42. Gateway to anywhere.

But where?

And why deal with the bus instead of taking the C train?

His phone buzzed, Edrisa’s text pulling him away from the screen and to her. Stress ball in hand, he headed out of the building, thrilled to be able to work with at least one teammate.

* * *

Edrisa was practically glowing waiting for Malcolm, her smile wider than anyone's should be to see him. It put him on notice, uneasy with where the conversation might head. Even though they’d already talked about precinct professional, would he have to dodge another suggestive phrase? One foot into the morgue, and she shared, “She was dead before she hit the train tracks.”

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Edrisa's statement rattled around in Malcolm's mind, halting him while it got gobbled up by the piranhas. Tara was dead before she fell? "From what?” he asked, resuming his walk further into the room. “She wasn’t visibly injured on camera.” Chewing on his cheek, the explanation made less sense than 1 + 1 = 10.

“You mean, before she got hit by a train?” Edrisa challenged, giving him an equally skeptical look that he rolled his eyes at in return. “Unclear. I’m not done — gonna be waiting for tox anyway.”

“We can see her on camera, alive,” he argued, recalling the footage played back in Gil’s office and again several times at his desk.

Her face broke into a smile somehow mirroring the energy of her first. If she wasn't careful, it would freeze that way, or so his mother would chide. At least a smile for death was something he could relate to, no matter how creepy others might find it. “Dead at least six hours,” she said quickly, capping off the assertion with a point in the air for her victory.

Glasses in perfect position, genuine smile curling into cheeks, eyes shining with confidence, she was taking pleasure in how _wrong_ his statements were. He wasn't wrong, per se, but uninformed. As dreary as the task could be corralled in with a bunch of strangers, dead people didn’t casually stand waiting for the train. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“You said she was propped up near the end.”

“No way. Look at this.” His fingers flew at her keyboard as he raced to show her the video footage to refute her claim.

“She’s not moving, Bright,” she pointed out, reaching over him and pressing a finger into the LCD on top of the deceased's black peacoat. So many people in frame and the footage quality not movie theater ready, it was really a tossup as to what Tara was doing.

“You think the _wall_ is holding her up?” he shared his surprise, swiveling his head, eyes wide, skeptical at best. Turned out she was closer than he expected, his nose almost brushing her sleeve.

She took a step backward, tugging on the sides of her lab coat to straighten it. “I think I did my job, so figuring out that one’s on you,” she said firmly, then encouraged, “C’mon, you like a puzzle.”

Regardless which way he looked at the screen, he couldn't see Tara as dead. It was harder to imagine than Eve being a lasting phantom in his daydreams, taunting him that he’d be talking to her in the flesh if he had worked harder to keep her from crossing the red line. "You’re thinking stand or something?” he stretched for an option, much as he found it unbelievable.

“I’m trying to open your mind to possibilities.”

But the more he thought about it, fingers alternating between drumming against his thigh and squeezing the blue rubber into oblivion, the more he landed at, “How about the timeline might be wrong?”

“You trying to tell me how to do my job now?” She balked at the prospect, lips pursed and glasses slipping down her nose. Amidst his head shake and recoil over poor choice of delivery, she continued fastidiously, “There wasn’t extreme temperature or any other external factors in that tunnel that would have made getting an accurate reading difficult.”

He frowned, unable to piece together an explanation.

“Dude, go look for a stool or something,” she directed at him in a dismissive tone with an undercurrent of _get out of her morgue_. "It's going to take me a while to finish here — I just wanted you to know something was up as soon as I did."

Sighing, he knew he probably could have handled that more tactfully, preferably in a way that didn’t have her practically pushing him out. Rude wasn't the goal, but everything he'd looked at pointed in a different direction. Wrong wasn’t a flavor that sat well on his temperamental palate. "Thanks, Edrisa,” he shared, lost in his head as he left.

* * *

Malcolm spent the remainder of the evening in evidence, looking through everything else that had been retrieved from the scene. Garbage, a decorative scarf, her wallet, both men's coats — nothing that could have held the weight of a dead body. Her clothes were missing, presumably being processed in the lab, yet from their descriptions, he doubted they would offer any help in his predicament.

Was there still something left in the tunnel?

Should he go explore? It'd be quieter late in the evening. Could probably sneak around a bit without attracting much attention.

No. Gil would kill him. He'd prove nothing about being a capable asset if he got himself into trouble while on an uncharacteristically long leash. Reined in, Gil wouldn't let him inside the precinct, never mind in the field.

But if Edrisa was right, he needed to come up with some way to explain the victim's otherworldly ability to remain upright in death. He played back the camera footage, rewatching Tara enter amongst others and wait. Rewind — wait. Rewind — wait. Always a signature black peacoat against rows of white subway tile until she dropped offscreen.

Nothing. One side of his brain reminded she'd walked in, while the other instigated she was one head hidden behind a sea of people — any one of them could have had an arm around her propping her up.

_Pop — pop — pop_ his stress ball flew against the conference room glass, his conclusions unable to land somewhere that wasn't a subway tunnel. At least everyone else was too busy to wonder what he was doing or halt his futile attempt at releasing energy.

He needed to go back to the scene.

Burying the temptation in his gut with his array of scars, he left for home.

* * *

A haven of familiarity, Jackie’s arms wrapped around Gil, fingers wandering through his chest hair, then down his stomach, following a trail to his lightly groomed patch. Teasing a little with tickling brushes at the top of the curls, she lingered, then meandered back up. “Are you awake?” Her warm breath hit his ear, carrying a promise of one of the best ways to start the morning.

“Mmm,” came his grunt of a response, still heavy with sleep.

“You gotta tell me you’re awake, or this isn’t going anywhere.” Her words ended in a throaty chuckle, stirring his eyes behind closed lids. Rubbing circles into his chest, her fingers idled in an action she’d repeated countless times over the years.

“‘m awake,” he mumbled.

Trailing back down, her hand brushed the base of his cock, then detoured to rub the inside of his thigh in gentle sweeps that perked him to further interest. A swath of nibbles at his neck heightened his awareness a bit more, saliva pooling in his mouth in anticipation of tasting her.

He rolled onto his back, taking her lips in sloppy kisses mushing between them, all want and heat as she melded with his side. Pulling his bottom lip in between her teeth, she nipped with a force that hurried blood to his dick.

His hands roused, one sliding up her side to rest beneath her breast, its familiar curve nestled in his hand in a weight that said _Jackie_. Her fingers closing around his cock in a sure grip that left him chasing more, his hips bucked into her hand as she worked him to full hardness.

“Someone woke up horny,” he teased, burying his face in her breast, licking at a dark nipple and rolling the pert bud under his thumb.

“You,” she teased back, her fingers spreading precome down his length, twisting in a luscious movement that gave a mere glimpse of her capabilities. His whole body tingled with remembrance, knowing her deft mouth or cleverly positioned fingers would come next.

“You,” he reached for her folds, finding a succulent wetness, his fingers emerging coated in slick. Returning them to his firm length, he gave a few pumps to reduce the friction.

Gil woke to his cock throbbing against his stomach through his fly, achingly hard by the thought of his wife kissing him, stroking him —

He quickly pulled his shorts under his balls and slicked his hand with spit to continue the motion she had started. Hand gliding freely at a feverish pace, it wasn’t about lasting — it was chasing the memory of his wife before she disappeared.

Striping his stomach white, the ghost of her hands lingered on his cock as bittersweet waves crested through him and he panted against the sheets.

* * *

Getting into the precinct, Gil rubbed his eyes to try to wake up a little more. He had coffee in tow, but it wasn’t enough. Cases...too many. Hours until he could go home...who knew.

Jackie had given him a reason to go home. A meaning beyond walls and a roof that merely existed without her. As their anniversary passed, he had thought this might be the year he could find a reason again. Maybe with Jessica. Maybe with someone he hadn't met yet.

But everyone else took precedence. JT would soon be a dad for the first time, Dani was heading into a new year of sobriety that ticked with each year since he'd lost his wife, and Malcolm...was alive, and he'd sure as hell do everything to keep him that way.

Trying to find a partner at home fell to the back burner in comparison to all the partners he looked after at work. It was just...how he was built. What he chose to focus on. The people he _loved_. Changing his routines and opening himself up to find a new person to love was as difficult as getting the kid to call for backup.

Malcolm's voice interrupted his thoughts as soon as he entered his office. "Gil, I wanted to go back to the scene last night, but I didn’t," the kid's announcement came with fanfare that only he would dare attempt.

“Do you want a medal?” As much as he couldn't believe the kid, he supposed he should consider it a small win he hadn't gotten a call from him in trouble the previous night.

Miming in front of him, Malcolm said, "It could go right next to my two-time silver — “

“Wiseass,” he cut him off and sat at his desk. “What’s up?”

“Edrisa says the victim’s been dead at least six hours.” Malcolm paused, giving a chance for the news to settle in. “Can I have Major Crimes now?”

Ignoring how much the kid sounded like _are we there yet_ , he concentrated on the information he didn't believe. "The vic was standing."

“I know.”

He pressed a thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. They needed less cases, not more. "You think it's a murder?"

"It's suspicious. She's on camera walking in — " He gave air quotes. " — and it sure wasn't six hours beforehand."

"Shit." Which meant the kid didn't have enough to make a concrete determination, or it would've been the first thing out of his mouth. "What’d you wanna go back to the scene for?”

“To find what was holding the victim up.”

A reasonable enough request that had low risk of regret. As low as things could get where Malcolm was concerned, at least. "Take Adams or Spears and go do that.”

“Gil — “

“Get some more information first, kid. You know we’re all swamped.” He stopped, realizing he was being a bit harsh in his effort to get straight to work. Not seeing the stress ball, he only found Malcolm's hand jittering at his side. “You doin’ alright?”

Malcolm nodded and slipped his hand into his pocket. “Fine.”

The four-letter word that started with f and ended with everything but. Yet it wasn't worth pushing first thing in the morning. "Good. Let me know what you find.”

* * *

Malcolm followed Officer Adams into the subway tunnel via a maintenance access door, finding the venue to be much quieter than his last experience waiting to ride a train. A _closed_ sign across the entrance gate, and the two of them were the only ones inside. He took a moment inspecting everything he could see from track level — the platform above them, the mosaic of tiled artwork, the gaps in the tracks, the stray garbage that didn't quite reach the pails.

“We’ve just gotta wait for the all clear on the train,” Adams shared, standing beside the door. The man Malcolm had seen in passing a few times before this case had been pleasant the whole drive, offering to let him ride shotgun instead of making his own way there. He knew anyone would take him if he requested, but it was nice not to need to ask.

Looking up at the lit schedule above the platform, Malcolm saw a train wasn’t due to arrive for some time. He wasn't exactly keen on twiddling his thumbs waiting on a technicality, so he prepared to step out on his own if he had to. Equally considering Gil wouldn't be pleased with such a report, he stayed back and scratched at his pockets, a colt at the starting gate, anticipating his chance to shine. 

“I know, I know,” the officer said, holding his hands out at his sides in defeat, “department rules.”

He nodded. Fingers antsy, he wasn't thrilled with delaying the search any longer, but it wasn't Adams' fault. It wouldn’t be fair to take his anxiousness out on him.

“You ever try one of those one-wheels?” Adams asked, cutting the silence.

“Huh?” Even if he hadn't been slightly distracted, Malcolm had no idea what the officer was talking about or what it had to do with the scene.

“Segway unicycle.” Adams gripped his hands in front of him like a unicycle actually had any handles in comparison to a typical Segway. “Zip around the city. My wife and I tested them out last weekend," he shared, his voice carrying the glee of a pleasant memory.

“Was it fun?”

“Yeah. Little hard to get used to." Adams gestured toward Malcolm. "You seem to like to walk a lot, so thought it might be something you’d enjoy.”

He shrugged, not really knowing if it was quite his thing, but wanting to show he was grateful all the same. This case was the first time he’d really talked to Adams, and the man had already been observant enough to give him hobby ideas — a very different reaction than he was accustomed to when meeting new people. “Thanks. I’ll look into it,” he said and smiled sincerely. It wouldn't be good for his late night walks, but might be something new to try during the day. Maybe after he finished assembling the model helicopter to fly in the loft.

“Though if I’m to believe the rumors, you should probably wear a helmet," Adams cautioned with a chuckle.

“I see my reputation precedes me.” He gave a sideways smile and turned his eyes away, aiming for some part of the subway tunnel he hadn’t already looked at.

“Good and the bad, right?” The officer’s radio crackled to life. “We got the all clear.”

“Let’s go digging.” Malcolm stepped out onto the track bed, eager to explore.

* * *

Up the track, down the track. In the corners where debris collected, between the rails, in the darkness only flashlights could see.

Nothing. They found a whole lotta nothing.

A cane could have been taken. Any prop might have been pushed up the tracks until it disappeared who knew where in pieces. Depending upon what they were dealing with, it could have up and walked away.

Malcolm kicked the dirt in the concrete bed and accepted Adams' offer to let him go back through the maintenance door first.

“Sorry, man,” the officer shared, clearly picking up on his disappointment.

“Not your fault.” Fixing his jacket, Malcolm ensured he looked presentable.

“Late lunch?”

It wasn’t exactly high up on his priority list, but he knew others needed to eat. “I guess?”

His phone buzzed with a text from Edrisa. _Have I got something for you_.

And a second message zipped in behind it. _Friend_.

“Then, maybe after, you could drop me at the morgue?” Malcolm requested.

“You got it.”

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

The sandwich shop Adams stopped at didn’t have much Malcolm wanted to eat, not that he could articulate anything he actually craved. He managed a few slices of apple, the accompanying peanut butter going to Officer Adams. With a reminder to try the Segway unicycle and let him know if he needed anything else, the officer dropped him off at the morgue.

“In here,” Edrisa called as soon as he entered, her voice leading him into her office. Another place he didn't customarily go, she always in the middle of something when he spoke with her, out in the main room performing tasks related to whatever autopsy she was working on.

This time was no different, even in a downsized venue. Her monitor held a collection of documents as chaotic as the printouts that papered her desktop. "You rang?"

"Oh, that's funny, like Lurch! Been awhile since I've watched, but..." She stopped herself from what could have been a distracting tangent and gestured toward her work. "We have a bit of a kerfuffle."

He nodded, yet stayed silent, respecting her domain by leaving her the floor to continue with her train of thought.

"Before I start an autopsy, my team collects medical records,” she explained, pointing to her computer. The monitor had a flurry of black text he couldn’t read from a distance.

"Standard procedure."

“They’re slowly making their way in. I can tell you she had her appendix out when she was a kid. Spent a week in the hospital recovering when it burst. Lucky — can be fatal.“ Enthusiasm bubbled through her words, sharing enjoyment for her work.

He had difficulty following, the drone of procedure mixing with her asides making a cocktail that left him disoriented. "What does that — "

Opening a folder between them, she held her notes in front of him for his perusal, tapping the relevant section. “The victim still has her appendix."

"They don't grow back." The page held various notes of organ damage and tissue samples taken in a speedy scrawl typifying doctor’s handwriting. The letters held as much character as the woman who wrote them.

"Exactly.” Consonants popping, her eyes glowed. “So either the record is wrong, or — "

"You don't think it's Tara," he concluded, the information joining the ruckus of other evidence in his mind that didn't line up. Rubbing his beard, he knew he should whiteboard it at this point to tidy his thoughts — _nothing like a good old housecleaning_ , his mother would say.

"No. On top of past surgical history, blood type doesn't match. Again, records could be wrong." She kept erring on the side of caution as if some piece of her work could've been incorrect, but he knew she was right as often as he was. "I don't have dental records yet, and DNA will take a bit."

Brain speeding through a spinning display rack of all the possible ways they could identify the woman, he blurted the first things that came to mind. ”Tattoos — identifying marks?"

"Her father said she doesn't have any."

"Does your father know about your watercolor Ghibli’s?” he asked, pushing that they might not have all the necessary information. There were a mountain of things his parents didn’t know about — it would be pretty common for the same to be true for the victim.

"No, but he's dead, so..." She shrugged.

Oxford’s didn’t taste so good. ”I’m — "

"Long time ago. From what I gathered, they were close. He would've known,” she said confidently. Closing the file and putting it back amongst the scatter on her desk, she huffed, “Now we wait."

Not exactly his strong suit. There had to be something they could do in the meantime. “What's your gut say?"

"That my job is science and you won't get a determination until I have solid test results in front of me.” Impatient eyes glared back at him, telegraphing her frustration with his request for expedience.

“But you have good intuition — “

“Conclusive. Evidence.” Her crisp words drilled her point home, foot grinding on the floor for good measure.

Not exactly the answer he was looking for. Maybe... "Can I see?”

“No, you can’t _see_. This isn’t a zoo.” Posture straightening, she was a terrifying force to reckon with. Her disdain stood strong, pouring over the top of her glasses.

“I mean — “

“She’s severely disfigured. _Train_.” Like he'd forgotten after he just came back from the subway tunnel. The team usually got their own look at the victim after Edrisa released her findings, so it didn’t seem like this case would be any different.

Beyond curiosity to try to match the victim to the woman he had seen on video, he didn’t have a solid reason to look. Realizing it was arrogant to think he would be able to make a visual identification when Edrisa couldn’t, he dropped his line of questioning. “Why would someone else have Tara Jensen’s wallet?” he asked, trying to put the mismatched pieces together, his brain nearly grinding to a halt.

“We’re back in that your job, my job territory,” she said, pushing the task back onto him.

“It’s not my _job_ — I’m helping.” He caught the near whining tone in his own voice and snapped his jaw shut to keep it from escaping any further. She didn’t have anything to do with his overwhelming need to help the world — she didn’t deserve to bear his frustrations over his inability to benefit more than his family had hurt either.

“Well, go help figure it out outside my morgue.” She steered him toward her office door, his silence apparently a hair too late.

The cumulative effect of her actions registering as uncharacteristically harsh, he tried to gather his flubs in splayed fingers and save face. “I’m sorry — I didn’t mean — “

“I know. You're out of line.” A phrase he’d never heard from her before in a rigid tone he didn’t want to hear again. “You don't get a pass 'cause you're my friend.” She turned her back to him, filing the folder. A whole ream of scattered papers amongst the remnants of his mishaps left to go.

“Understood. I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed.” He needed to offer a bit of explanation, yet he didn’t want to sound like excusing himself either. “Just wanna solve this.”

“Things are really busy.” Her tone carrying a lingering upset he hadn’t heard since finding her cornered with a murderer in the very same office, he knew he hadn’t done enough to right the situation.

Stepping into her line of sight, he promised, “Edrisa, I will do better.” Fumbling in his pocket, he peeked for a cherry lollipop as a peace offering.

“Can’t buy me off with sweets, you know.” Her fingers swept the filing cabinet drawer closed, the thud reverberating through the unit.

“I wasn’t trying to — “

She plucked the lollipop from his hand. “I’m teasing. Out. You've got work to do."

With a nod, he disappeared out the door, finally complying with her request. His shoulders drooped with the weight of tussling and losing a fight he never meant to start.

* * *

Malcolm didn't find Gil in his office. It briefly crossed his mind that he could leave a note or shoot a text, yet he thought better of it, figuring the case update was something best shared in person. Whatever the update would be — he wasn’t entirely sure how to play it so Gil wouldn’t think he’d gone off the rails.

Determined to find out why Tara's wallet was at the scene, he read back through all the notes the investigators had logged. No fingerprints found on the wallet. Contents including all her credit cards, a MetroCard, and a photo of her father, it didn’t seem like anything was missing. Robbery unlikely.

Perhaps Edrisa was right about Tara's relationship with her father. Was she right about Tara not being the victim, too? Probably. As much as he had made an ass of himself, he didn't doubt her abilities. Didn’t stop his runaway arrogance from causing trouble in the morgue. Again.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes, his conscience reminding him _and you gave her a lollipop?_ A move he now realized could have been construed as unintentionally condescending. Didn't make it any less of a microaggression he was at fault for. She brushed it off with a joke, but had she really felt that way? Had he offended her again?

Alone with his mind, he kept second guessing every action he’d performed in the morgue, seeing all of them in a negative light. She deserved better than he’d given.

"I hear you've got some discrepancies," Gil's voice came over his shoulder, followed by a hand resting against the base of his neck.

"Yeah. How do you know?" News had travelled remarkably fast.

"It's my job." Gil slid away to sit on the edge of his desk and smiled, reminding him he was in charge for a reason.

"Checking up on me?"

Gil looked him over. "Do you need to be checked up on?"

"No." Despite his trail of evidence to the contrary.

Looking at his monitor, Gil asked, “What's the next move?"

"If it's not Tara, figure out what links Tara and the victim,” Malcolm described his approach.

"Time’s ticking down on the two guys being held." Something he didn’t need to be reminded of. He put enough pressure on himself for a solve without Gil adding to it.

He didn't want to talk to Lenny and Wes again. The men had been useless to date. A term that would get him in trouble, yet he didn’t have a better one to offer. “I don't know..."

"You have more information now." Gil’s tone typically coaxed him into the action he wanted, yet Malcolm wasn’t convinced.

"I'd like to talk to her father,” Malcolm said instead.

"Go ahead." Gil's fingertips tapped his desk. "You don't need permission."

"Really?"

"You're doing great work, kid." Gil’s praise ran through his frame, invigorating him. Maybe he could prove to Gil he could take a bigger role on the team after all. "Just don't leak your suspicions until we have proof."

"Like ‘I get a teammate’ kind of work?" The realization he might get someone else to bounce ideas off of brought him glee.

"Do you have a crime?" Gil countered, questioning eyes meeting his.

As much as he had pushed Edrisa on intuition, he failed at applying it himself. “I don't know."

"Come back when you can answer that question," Gil said and tacked on a tease, "ninety-five percent."

"I only do 100s," he deadpanned.

"That's your cocky ass talking. Be safe, kid.” Gil patted Malcolm’s shoulder. “Maybe remember you’re not always the smartest one in the room.”

Edrisa wouldn’t have told Gil, so he must’ve made an assumption from their conversation. Digging his nails into his palm, he chided himself again for doing something so stupid.

Eyes glancing away in discomfort, Malcolm caught Gil’s thumb rocking against his wedding band, the repetitive motion evoking one woman. “Everything alright?” he asked.

“Huh?” Gil looked up, then abruptly stopped his self-soothing. “Yeah, fine.”

“Did you get to go down to the park?”

"I don’t want to talk about that here." Gil shook his head, dismissing the conversation.

“You can call me later," he offered, yet Gil shrank away.

“You’ve got work to do.” Gil stood up from his desk and retreated to his office.

Amidst all Gil’s work, Malcolm didn’t know whether he had taken the chance the past week to see Jackie and bring her his customary one black-eyed Susan for each year they’d been married, the collection of yellow blooms as vibrant as the woman herself against the grey. Malcolm kicked himself for being too caught up in his own wants that he hadn't recognized the time of year.

Gil inaccessible for now, he focused on one mishap he hoped to clean up before it mushroomed and took out his phone. "You found the break in the case, Edrisa. It’s great work."

“I know. It’s kinda my job.” The joking lilt in her voice told him she'd accepted his apology.

"You're an expert. It's nice to have a brilliant mind to bounce ideas with. I'm sorry I failed to respect that earlier." She was the only teammate he could work with at the moment, and without her, he wouldn’t have known what was amiss.

"Your arrogance was showing. I called you on it, you stopped." Her deep breath came through the line. "We apologize, we move on. It's what friends do."

"You're a good friend.” He looked over to Gil’s office, finding him staring at his picture frames in the corner. “I’ll work on being more aware."

"I'm terrible at social cues sometimes," she admitted.

He smirked, the statement the epitome of himself. As much as he was an expert profiler, everyday people interactions were difficult. "Me too."

"Chop, chop. Ohhh, that sounds a little dire coming from autopsy,” she said in amazement, then directed, “Back to it."

He chuckled, glad that they seemed to be on better terms. "I'll let you know what I find." 

* * *

Tucked into a meeting room, Officer Spears handled the phone call to Tara's father, yet Malcolm sat by his side, waiting for an opportune moment to begin his questions. Mason Jensen, Malcolm learned as introductions and background passed. The man sounded tired, yet eager to help. "We’d like to ask you some questions about your daughter,” Malcolm said, finding a window. "When did you last talk with her?"

“The night before she got hit,” Mason said. “I shared that with the police already.”

"How does she get to work?"

"Takes the train. Likes to walk, but with the Parkinson's, she chooses her outings a bit more thoughtfully. Or chose." A deep breath followed, heavy with his grief. "I don't know."

"Parkinson's?" Mention of the disease struck Malcolm as out of place for a 24-year-old.

"Early onset. It's hereditary. Her mother."

"Does she ever take the bus?" Perhaps the 2?

"Not that I know of. Nothing against it, though."

"Where does she like to walk?" Behavior patterns, possible intersections.

"From her apartment in El Barrio to the subway, down to the park. Loves to circle Central Park.“ Mason paused. "The officers said this was an accident — why do you have so many questions?"

"We're just trying to figure out what happened,” Officer Spears stepped in and extended his reassurance.

"I just want my daughter back. To have a proper funeral, to..." Mason trailed off, not finishing his sentence.

"I understand,” the officer said, and Malcolm gave him the side-eye for his word choice.

"No, you don't," Mason returned sternly.

Malcolm tried to salvage the conversation, flooding his voice with empathy. Somehow, talking with a grieving father, he could muster what he had difficulty doing sometimes for his friends. "What we mean is we're doing all we can."

"I can come down and tell you whatever you want. Officer, you showed me stills, asked me questions, asked for doctor's information — anything else you want, _tell me_ — I just want this to be over. She's my _daughter_ ,” Mason’s despair extended through the phone, latching around Malcolm’s heart in a fierce grip.

Malcolm let several moments pass, neither side of the line speaking, yet Mason thankfully not hanging up either. "Did Tara wear any special jewelry? Anything of value?" he asked, tentatively resuming.

"No."

"A locket or anything sentimental?" His sister had all kinds of jewelry, maybe this woman did, too.

"No. She wore her mother's coat — closest thing she kept to something like that."

"What brand was it?"

“H&M. Bought it for her one year as a Christmas gift."

Having something more to check into and not wanting to chance any more potential potholes, Malcolm moved to end the conversation. "Could we call you if we have any other questions?"

"Yes."

"Thank you."

Malcolm pressed the speakerphone button to end the call and turned to Officer Spears. "Understand is one of the worst words you can say to someone in grief or distress," he chided.

"I know. It was an accident," Spears defended. "Good work steering the conversation back."

A _big_ , rookie accident, but he nodded, believing him, certainly not having the moral high ground to stand on for the day. "I'll come find you if we need to make another call."

* * *

Malcolm raced back to evidence, knocking into a chair along the way and scattering it out into the hallway. The victim's clothing now available for inspection, he donned gloves and tore into the packaging, looking for the label. _H &M_. Same brand.

"Dammit!" He tossed his chair into the table, hand coming back to rattle at his side.

It was a black peacoat. A ton of people in the city wore them. Of course it would be hard to use that as a differentiator.

His fist slammed the table, the reverberating pain of impact wailing up his arm, snapping him out of his spiral.

Resigning he wasn't going to get any further, he went in search of Officer Adams.

* * *

Much as he didn’t want to, Malcolm ended up back in interrogation. Having had enough of Lenny and Wes’ indifference routine, he went on the offensive, starting his questions as soon as he strode through the door to Wes. "What if I told you the woman you pushed wasn't Tara Jensen?"

"I'd tell you that you're wrong." Wes’ curls bobbed with his head shake.

"I thought you didn't know her." Malcolm paced back and forth, not bothering with a seat.

"I don't." Same tune, different day.

"Or know of her — let's not play semantics."

But Malcolm didn’t get an answer. Wes' silence useless, he left for the other interrogation room as quickly as he had entered. Staying equally forward with his approach, he said to Lenny, "What if I told you the woman you pushed wasn't Tara?"

Lenny’s eyes didn’t leave the table, but he said, “It was."

Surprised by the sureness of the response, he returned, "You knew her?"

Lenny looked away, realizing he'd gotten himself into trouble. "Lawyer."

* * *

Malcolm fiddled in one of the tiny meeting rooms, stills of every possible angle of the crime scene laid out in front of him. Tara — the victim — leaning against the wall. Mid-motion getting pushed off. Edrisa’s team’s photos from the scene. His own shots of up and down the tunnel, sight lines disappearing into the black.

Photos from his visit revealed a small gate near where Tara — the victim — stood on the platform. There wasn't any wall behind it, the gate hiding the difference between where the platform stuck out to allow passengers to board and the full width of the tunnel.

Had she been leaning on the gate? It wasn't visible in the camera footage. Still, dead, she wouldn't have been able to stand on her own.

On the other side of the gate lay darkness that stretched all the way through the rest of the tunnel that he'd walked earlier, barely able to see Adams with their flashlights off.

He needed to go back.

* * *

Past the end of the day, very few people remained in the precinct. Dani pattered away at her desk, busy as JT and Gil, yet Malcolm approached her, as she was the best chance for a successful request.

“I need you to come help me with something,” Malcolm shared, leaning over Dani’s shoulder.

"Hey, you good, what's new — all good ways to start a conversation," she teased with a rough edge, turning her head and retreating to the end of her desk.

Chair vacated, he gripped the back in his enthusiasm. “Come push me onto the train tracks," he said like it was a typical task on a checklist.

“Are you out of your mind? Did you raid evidence? Your mom’s tin?” she rattled off, each question further revealing rings of her collective exasperation, dating back at least a week.

“It’s for a case.” After he had been out there all morning, received Edrisa’s findings, and kept researching, nothing added up.

“Not a chance," she refused, looking like she wanted to return to her computer, but with him still clutching her chair like a lifeline, she couldn't.

“Do you have a crash test dummy?” he asked, barreling forward on his quest.

“Do I look like that’s just laying around my closet?” Dani retorted.

Might as well be — he wouldn't judge. "Then it’s gonna have to be me.”

“You can’t be serious.” Backing away from her desk, she gave him a look that said she was fed up with the conversation.

“Either you push me, or I’m finding a stranger," he gave what amounted to an ultimatum, as none of the team would line up to tell Gil they’d known he was going to do something stupid and let it happen anyway.

She caved, as expected. “You owe me. You get killed, you’re explaining it to Gil.”

Letting go of her chair, he had a pop in his step catching up to her. “How are you, by the way?"

"Twenty-two days to four years clean, thanks for asking," she snarked, walking faster.

Murphy’s Law. He was batting a thousand with his friends today. Fuck, he needed his stress ball and a trip to Gabrielle.

* * *

Gil lay in bed hugging a spare pillow, wishing the polyester's squish was more like supple flesh. Jackie would tell him, "Stop screaming — don't let the brain piranhas win," and sometimes, he'd listen, sharing whatever was on his mind until silence enveloped them both.

There wasn't anywhere for his thoughts to go. Maybe that was what the kid felt like when he struggled home alone sometimes. What was Malcolm doing? Did he need someone to talk to?

"Stop screaming, babe," Jackie told him, her chocolate brown hair under his chin more enticing than any morning cup of coffee.

"This is silly,” he reprimanded himself.

"You don't tell Bright that,” she argued, never one to let an issue go unchallenged.

"He needs — "

“ _You_ need. Can't help anyone else if you don’t take care of yourself."

"Jac — "

"The kids give me every excuse imaginable — go ahead and try,” she challenged, all sass waving off the tips of her hair and into his lips.

"I miss you." He squeezed her a little tighter as if that could keep her from disappearing.

"Make yourself a cup of tea and get some rest." Things would be better in the morning, her implication, yet it was difficult to grasp the concept.

His head jerked, eyes popping awake. Abandoning the spare pillow in shame, he padded out to the kitchen.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

The second trip back to the subway tunnel, Malcolm went straight for the platform. It was late enough that it wasn't busy, yet there were still people scattered around en route to evening itineraries. Whose were more exciting, theirs or his? He hoped his.

He looked up at the lit schedule to see what they were working with. “Alright — there’s ten minutes ’til the next train.” Walking over to the end of the platform, he faced down the tracks and leaned against the side of the building as Tara — the victim — had. “Push me.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Dani complained, echoing her earlier statement.

Turning around and looking at the schedule again, he reminded, “This gets more dangerous the longer you wait.”

Rocking back and forth on her feet, she appeared to be contemplating her next action. Unsure was a look he wasn’t accustomed to on Dani, its appearance like a waft of food that peaked his anxiousness. She asked cautiously, "Like a bump, or a tackle, or — “

“A shove. Payback for times I’ve been an ass.” He locked eyes with her, hoping the combination of his words and a steady stare would give her the last encouragement she needed.

“Alright.”

He turned back around into position. Without warning, she shoved him, his body falling face-first through the gate and onto the concrete bed below in an _oomph_.

“That’s further than it looks,” he mumbled into the ground, his joints aching from the impact.

“You good?”

“Yep.” Dirt from the concrete pushed into every bit of his body through his suit, but he'd been smart enough not to break his fall with his wrists.

“Get back here," she demanded, sounding like his mother. Would she chase after him yelling if he didn’t comply, too? Probably not. Probably just call Gil. Probably worse.

Remaining still, he countered, “Take a picture first.” The vital piece of why they'd gone on the field trip.

He waited so she could complete the action, looking at the maintenance door a short ways away in the darkness. "Alright — get up," she implored once she was finished with the task in a tone that said the phone call to Gil was happening if he didn’t comply immediately.

He stood, dusted himself off, and accepted her help in giving him an arm up onto the platform.

“Was that really necessary?” she scolded, her eyes squinting like she wanted to chew him a new one.

“That’s my proof for Gil that this case needs Major Crimes," he justified, gesturing toward her phone, proud of himself and sure he'd finally get the support the case warranted.

“How’s that?”

“Did I land on the tracks?” He pointed to where he had laid a few moments ago.

“No.”

“Wasn’t even close.” Finding more dirt on his knees, he scrubbed them further with his fingers. Maybe the suit was a goner, maybe dry-cleaning could save it.

“Do I gotta push you again?” she joked. Of course _now_ she would warm up to the idea.

“Even if you hit me with a heavy bag, I’m not getting where Jane Doe was found." His hands gestured in front of him, energized with the confirmed information. "Jane Doe and Tara Jenson are two different people at the same scene — two different crimes.” Catching a few people looking at him, at least one of them shaking their head, he tipped his head toward the exit.

“So that means…”

“We’re gonna be on a case together, partner.” He grinned, knowing he'd demonstrated his ability to add more value to the team.

* * *

First thing in the morning, Malcolm waltzed into Gil’s office, not paying any attention to what was going on inside. “It’s a kidnapping,” he announced.

“ _Bright_.” Gil gave him a stern glare.

JT was sitting in the chair in front of his desk, his face now turning toward him with an eyebrow raised. _Oh_. “Sorry, I’ll come back.” Malcolm retraced his steps and clenched the stress ball in his hand that he’d remembered to bring along again.

“Stay,” Gil directed.

Malcolm hovered near the door, unsure he should really be there. Starting tentatively, he worked his way up to a more confident statement, “It is unlikely the woman who was pushed would have reached the tracks.”

“Tara Jensen,” JT said, turning to him.

“We actually don’t know that,” Malcolm corrected. “The woman found is Jane Doe. Well, probably.” He backtracked a little, not having Edrisa’s final findings and consciously avoiding infringing on her space. “Same clothes as the woman pushed, so there was no reason to suspect anything suspicious. She had her license, but it’s likely not Tara.”

“The missing woman could be," Gil said.

“Yes. The suspects targeted her. Based on video captured and these photos — ” Malcolm held his shots and the ones Dani had snapped in front of him. “— someone could have taken her away through the maintenance door without notice. All attention was on the tracks."

"Dead for six hours?" JT said skeptically, reminding of another fact.

"Body planted in between trains." Malcolm looked to Gil. "Can I get the team’s help now?”

Gil let out a gushing breath of air. “Yes.”

“You don’t seem happy,” Malcolm said, surprised Gil’s enthusiasm didn’t match his own.

“Just another case, kid. And you being…” Gil trailed off, a hand in the air, not finishing his sentence.

“Wonderful? Magnificent?” Malcolm tossed out some options.

“Good work. Get back to it.”

Coming across more as a _shoo_ , Gil's praise wasn't satisfying in the least.

* * *

Despite the other work on their plates, Dani and JT were eager to help. It gave Malcolm the team vibe he’d craved, that he hadn’t even realized he’d become so accustomed to now versus his solo days in the bat cave.

Malcolm and JT crowded around Dani’s desk, doing some preliminary research and catching each other up on facts Malcolm had confirmed thus far.

“Tara has a medication regimen to take and all that jazz," Dani said, reading from her screen.

“It’s dangerous off meds," Malcolm commented, double-checking in his mind that he'd taken his own that morning.

“You’ve done it?” JT asked.

“We’re not gonna talk about that here.” The stress ball in his hand got a brief squeeze, yet Malcolm was otherwise unaffected.

JT gave a brief nod, accepting his assertion. “So the two guys being held have said several times they don’t know Tara, but what if they do?”

“They knew who they were looking for,” Malcolm said. “It’s one of the things that got me to comb through all the footage again. A link, though? Actually knowing her? I looked — I didn’t find anything.”

“You pull the cams from outside her apartment?” JT asked.

Malcolm shook his head.

“How ‘bout subway entrance?”

“No.”

“Why you got us, huh?” JT clapped his shoulder.

How much work was that all going to be? Would any of them get to go home at the end of the day? He could stay up for days, but they... “Gil said — “

“We’re buried. We still are,” Dani interjected. “But you’ve got some help. Take it.”

“Thanks.” Malcolm looked up at JT with big eyes. “You know, I missed you?”

“Now you sound weird,” JT said and retreated from Dani’s desk.

"You missed me too?"

"Still weird."

* * *

As much work as he had to do, Malcolm kept staring off into space toward Gil’s office. Finding such a crucial lead should have been something to celebrate, but he couldn’t. The look he kept catching on Gil’s face spoke of grief that made his stomach twist. He’d never known Gil to fail to see Jackie. Like clockwork, he went every year, often cutting out of work for the day and returning the next once he’d had time for himself.

Had taking time watching out for Malcolm impeded his ability to care for himself? Malcolm didn’t even remember what he’d been doing that day last week — log splitting, maybe? There’d been a couple jaunts upstate. Attempts at getting out some energy at a task that would benefit someone, perhaps. Better than the no one he helped stuck in his loft.

Why hadn’t he realized? Why hadn’t he remembered? It was only four years — not the lifetime still left in from of them. It wasn’t fair that he’d done that to Gil. He’d been so. damn. selfish. Even now, he was trying to impress Gil with his ability to work a case on his own instead of focusing on the wellbeing of his teammates.

A hand waved in front of his face, and he jumped.

“You good?” Dani asked, passing him a steaming mug of tea.

“I’m worried about him.” He pointed to Gil’s office.

“Time of year, huh?”

“Yeah.” The one that had him darker than ever that Malcolm had somehow neglected to check in on earlier. Just like he had failed to pick up on other cues. “Look, I’m sorry I was an ass yesterday.”

“We’re good. I’m sure it’ll happen again,” she teased, sitting on the side of his desk.

“I don’t mean for it to.” Didn’t want to hurt his friends. Also wasn’t used to having friends at all to hurt.

“I know.” She sipped her own tea.

She and Gil shared enough past history that Malcolm felt comfortable saying, “I don’t think he’s okay.”

“Not okay how?” She joined in looking at Gil’s office.

Figuring she might be the only person who would know, he asked, “Did he go to see Jackie?”

“I don’t know. He was here. Might’ve gone after work." She paused, glancing at him. "You didn't talk to him?”

By that point, Malcolm was pretty sure he hadn’t. He changed the subject, thinking there was still something left he could check in on before he missed it. “Is there some sort of celebration or gift I’m supposed to give you?”

“No. Just a talking thing if needed.” She looked at the stress ball popping between his hands. “Goes both ways, you know.”

He gave a little, indulging her suggestion. “If I’m not here, I’m not doing well. And judging by the past few days, well is pretty arguable.”

“You figured out there’s potentially two victims. Has to count for something, right?” Knowing her words were meant as reassurances and accepting them as such were two entirely different battles. It was easier to see his shortcomings.

“Edrisa did.”

“I seem to remember pushing you in the tunnel, not her.”

“She helped.”

“We’re a team. We all help.”

He turned his head to Dani, giving a wan smile. “It’s really nice to have. I did miss you.”

She bopped his head with the back of a folder and started returning to her desk.

“It’s not making it weird if I’m telling you you’re appreciated,” he called to her back.

JT shook his head at him from his desk down the row.

* * *

The three of them tore through video footage tracing Tara’s day moment by moment on a race to see who would find something useful first. Between outside her apartment building, the subway, and bus video from the 2 showing where Lenny and Wes got on and off, they had a stack of possibilities waiting for the needle to be pulled out.

“I’ve got Lenny and Wes walking into the station after Tara," JT spoke from his desk to the next, calling over the both of them.

“Doesn’t prove — “ Malcolm started.

“And Lenny in a coffee shop on the way from Tara’s apartment to the train,” JT added.

“Surveillance?” Malcolm asked.

“Let’s go ask him,” JT said, standing from his desk.

“You coming?” Malcolm asked Dani when she didn’t follow.

“Someone’s gotta keep working our other cases,” she reminded and stayed behind.

He had the team… kind of. He had to keep squeezing his stress ball to remind himself that it was better than nothing. It was the only mantra that helped the day seem more palatable.

* * *

With the number of trips in to talk with Lenny and Wes, the routine was old hat. Come in, get little useful info, go to the other, repeat. Malcolm was grateful to finally have a second half of a tag team duo — maybe it would make a difference. He let JT take the lead, him having more experience and being a fresh face.

"I'm not here to bullshit," JT announced, dropping himself into a chair with a pronounced thunk that carried an air of authority. "How do you know Tara Jensen?"

Lenny shrunk back in his seat. ”I — "

"I can go next door to your buddy and show him the surveillance footage with your face on it and see if he'll crack first. Or, you can get a whole hell of a lot more helpful,” JT growled. Whether it was a show or leaking frustration from so much work, Malcolm wasn’t sure, but it was effective regardless.

“I want immunity,” Lenny demanded. “T-that’s a thing you can give, right?”

"From what?” JT’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t move. “Thought you didn't know her."

Lenny’s fingers meshed together, then pulled back apart in a nervous zipper. “We don't. We're the boots on the ground. There's so many layers and someone else who's much more powerful on top."

"Who's that?" JT leaned over the table as if the closer he got, the more likely he’d be able to draw it out of him.

"Do you know of Endicott Pharmaceuticals?"

JT looked at Malcolm, Malcolm’s mind already spinning through the millions of possibilities Endicott’s money could have gotten into. None of them landed in a place that was remotely positive.

"The CEO has some side projects."

Neither of them bothered correcting to _had_. Malcolm hadn’t reached a probable possibility by the time JT said, “We'll be back,” and ushered him out the door.

* * *

Waiting for an ADA's assessment to verify their evidence and Lenny’s story gave them time to keep working other cases. After the conversation had progressed enough in Lenny’s favor, JT and Malcolm got to return to speak with him.

“Tara was their latest research candidate," Lenny explained.

“Latest?” JT asked.

“They test drugs, off the books clinical trials. The kind of stuff you read in science fiction but the medical board won’t greenlight. But it’s _possible_.” Lenny’s eyes glowed in wonder as if the idea alone was amazing. "They’re developing medicine so she won’t need to take anything for her condition anymore. A full cure!”

A near dissertation compared to what he'd said previously. “Where did they take her?” Malcolm asked, chiefly interested in tracing their whereabouts if there was a woman they could still help.

“I don’t know. We met the guy on the bus line.”

“To…” JT interjected, bouncing the man’s attention back and forth.

"It's to Buffalo, but it has a half dozen stops after the city. Who knows?"

“Where’d you get off?”

“Cortland. Work that didn’t pan out.” Lenny splayed his fingers on the table.

“What’s his name?"

"No idea. We call him Skunky." Even with the extra information unraveling, these two really did not know much. Fall guys? Easy targets? Why leave any trail behind at all if it would lead back to the central operation?

“You don’t have anything more than that?” Malcolm asked.

“He has a pattern of grey.” Lenny gestured across the top of his head. “Smokes a lotta the good kush."

"Did you see him that day?"

"No. We gave her a little push, he did the rest."

“Was there payment?” JT took over again.

"Oxy. Enough for Wes and I to get high for… awhile.”

"You pushed a woman. For drugs." JT emphasized with his palm slapping into the table.

"So he could save her!” Lenny held his hands out toward JT. “She'll die an early death without some type of intervention."

"Don't you think she should've had a choice in that?" JT shook his head in frustration. "Routes you took, phone calls you made — I need it all,” he demanded. Malcolm retrieved his notebook from his jacket pocket and set his pen next to it so Lenny would have something to write on.

“This is very serious,” Malcolm said when Lenny didn’t move to write anything. “A woman is dead. Who is she?”

"No idea."

"I'm gonna need better than that," JT warned.

"We had nothing to do with that. We were supposed to disappear, but there was an officer nearby. Unplanned."

“You better start writing fast on everything you do know, or you’re being charged with her murder.” JT squeezed the edges of the table, and Lenny started scribbling.

* * *

Gil had his earbuds in, listening to a soundtrack of some of Jackie’s favorite songs while he worked through digital evidence. _If you’re lost you can look and you will find me, time after time_ , calmed him while he cross-checked an officer’s observations to submit for a warrant.

Somehow, Jackie was there with him. It was selfish, sharing his brain with his wife instead of solely concentrating on the case, but that was how he was able to cope. Though this had been the year he thought he could try to move forward, it wasn’t working — he still wasn’t ready. He couldn’t imagine anyone else in his personal space, couldn’t see himself pinning another or enjoying someone else ravishing him. He couldn’t —

"Gil, it's worse than we thought," JT informed, breaking Gil from his reverie.

Gil stopped the music on his phone and looked up at JT.

“We suspect ties to Endicott. Suspect mentioned it, and it checks out — the oxy they received as payment traces back to Endicott Pharmaceuticals.”

Gil rested his hand over his side at a phantom pain from where he’d gotten stabbed. “The guy’s dead, JT.” He pointed out the obvious.

“Doesn’t mean his work isn’t. Guy was an egomaniac. Who knows what kind of people he’s attracted over the years.”

“All kinds.”

“There’s an Endicott Labs in Rochester. It’s the only stop on the bus route with ties to Endicott. I think that’s where we look.”

“Any sign of the woman?”

“No.”

Vanished from a subway station, heading for a bus. Someone would need to call her father to explain all was not what it seemed, but they didn’t even have proof yet. How would that go — your daughter’s not dead, but she’s missing and we don’t know where? Which phone call was worse?

“Our boy alright?” Gil asked, clearing the thoughts from his mind.

“Yeah,” JT said. “Are you?”

As long as everyone else was. “Yeah — let me know what you need.”

* * *

One phone call to the bus company, and they had a heap of camera footage to dig through. Though they initially started scanning for a woman who matched Tara's description the day she disappeared, it turned out they had better luck finding Skunky.

“I’ve got him,” Dani said. “I think, at least.”

Departing out of New York, a signature white stripe down the middle of his hair, as described. An unknown person sitting next to him.

“That’s not Tara,” JT said, pointing to the screen.

“Never see her face,” Dani said, “but visual isn’t a match.”

“Get a look at his?”

“No. _But_ , we have options. On that bus, he would’ve purchased a particular seat. What do you wanna bet he never changed his alias between trips?”

“There’s no way you’re finding camera footage that old.”

“Might have it in archive. Might not even be that old. No telling unless we go ask.”

“They knocked her off in broad daylight,” Malcolm cut in. “He’s using public transit, known to have all kinds of cameras. I’ll bet you no alias at all.”

“Is that your profiling or your ego talking?” JT said.

“Probably a little bit of both,” Malcolm conceded.

“Where’s the woman?” Dani asked.

“Isn’t that for you to tell us?” JT joked.

“Do you have him boarding or leaving? Malcolm asked.

“Leaving would be in the bus terminal footage — just a second,” JT indicated, pecking away at his keyboard to pull it up.

Half an hour later, they all hovered around his monitor.

“Get ready — we’re going to Rochester,” Malcolm said.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

Joining up with Troop E in Rochester, the address for Endicott Labs led them to a building that looked like a standard 70’s doctor's office. Abandoned for quite some time, weeds splintered through the pavement, edging toward the building queuing as the only patients to be seen.

Their last footage of Skunky showed him wheeling an industrial trunk into the bus station parking lot. The vehicle he entered registered to Endicott Labs, they took a trip to trace Tara’s last known whereabouts in the hopes of finding her alive. From the outside, they found a whole lotta nothing.

JT led the way inside, the first breach of the door bringing them into a space that had been updated recently, despite its outward appearance. Fresh cleanser met their noses, and beyond the front desk was a corridor with a series of doors.

"Sweep the place," Gil directed, agreeing with the officer in charge. "Kid, you stay behind us."

"I was FBI trained," Malcolm argued, determined to go with them.

"Yeah, and you still can't pie for shit, so maybe listen," JT cut in, frustration in his tone.

"Just after me," Dani added.

Gil continued forward, taking lead with officers on the left branch while JT got the right, their heads poking into and out of fully stocked patient rooms. All the supplies a doctor could possibly need, yet no people.

Gil wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad thing. They needed to find Tara, but was this really the best place? Not that it was the worst either. With Endicott’s name involved, they’d expected a stronghold, a fight, some means of making their lives difficult. This was just… searching.

Past the utility closet was another doorway with stairs heading down. "Cover me," Gil requested of Dani, the two of them starting the trek with other officers behind them.

Doctor's offices didn't usually have basements. They weren't usually freshly remodeled when the outside looked desolate either. More rooms, more door by door searches. More nothing.

Different interiors, though. In one corner, Gil found most of them empty with floor anchor points. Perhaps remnants of another time with heavier machinery. There wasn't any furniture nor cabinets — nothing that indicated the presence of people.

Search with the flashlight beam, pop on a light. Search — pop. Search — pop. They methodically made their way through one side door by door, narrowing the search area remaining.

Pushing through another, he was met with a woman's back in his flashlight's beam. Ensuring the rest of the room was clear, he popped on the lights.

“Tara? Miss?” Gil called, walking toward the woman huddled on the floor.

She turned.

As soon as her face met his, his heart dropped through the floor, and his legs followed, puddling into a heap. He pushed up to his knees and crawled across the space to her, arms reaching out for her. “J-Jackie,” he stuttered, tears pouring down his face and wrecking his speech.

She clung to him, two arms around him so tight that he thought he’d never feel again.

He was dreaming.

Four years after her death, he’d finally lost it.

He had hoped the day wouldn’t come, but there was only one person who would know what to do. “Bright!” he called, all the while clutching her tighter. “I need help!” he sobbed. “ — ne-ed hep!”

* * *

Knees slammed into the floor beside Gil, somehow a harder hit than his own, jostling his legs.

“ _JT_ — we need paramedics! Get the paramedics!” Malcolm yelled. His voice was so far away through a haze Gil couldn’t clear, taunting him he’d be smothered entirely. “Dani — help me.”

“Gil, she’s alive,” Malcolm said, and another arm reached across Gil’s back. The kid’s. The kid was there.

“Some-thing’s wrong,” Gil said, his breathing coming out in gasps.

Yet another arm reached across Gil’s back. “Gil, listen to me. You gotta breathe with me.” Dani?

Taking in any air was near impossible with the vice on his chest. How many people were holding him — three? Dani, Malcolm, and —

“Are you hurt anywhere?” The words were so far away. Malcolm?

“Gil, you’re gonna come right here with me.” Dani. Close.

Less arms, only hers dragging him backward by under his armpits, only moving him a little bit. What had happened to him? Did Malcolm understand? “Bright.”

“He’s right there,” Dani assured, pointing in front of them. Her finger wobbled in his vision under waves like scorching pavement. How had sunlight gotten into the lab? He couldn’t see it.

“She’s alive, Gil. You’re gonna be alright,” Malcolm called back to him. Malcolm was so busy…

“The paramedics are gonna help her, and they’re gonna help you,” Dani added. How was he sitting upright? Was she holding him? Was that her rubbing his shoulder? He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t —

“I th-ought she was J-Jackie,” Gil revealed, the admission of his mental deterioration almost too difficult to get out.

“She is.”

* * *

Jackie’s eyes were just as wide as Gil’s, her gaunt frame also struggling with panic. What may have started with stress over a captor returning had turned into worry for her husband, her eyes tracking his every move as Dani worked to help him.

“You’re okay.” Malcolm’s arms wrapped around Jackie, replacing Gil’s hug as soon as Dani pulled him away.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” she admitted into his shoulder, her face turned away from him. Her warm breath reminded him she was alive — there was actually something he could do to help her as long as he kept a level head.

“We’re so glad to see you.” Malcolm gave a lopsided smile to the air. “Surprised, but so, so glad.”

Her eyes kept looking toward her husband, less vivid than he remembered, yet their intent still as fiery. She’d be over with him talking him down that instant if she was feeling better.

A medium grey long-sleeved top was loose over her frame, darker grey sweatpants double bunched at her waist. He wanted to rub her back for comfort, but he didn’t know where to put his hands. “Can you tell me if you have any injuries?”

“It’s all scars. Medications,” she shared quietly. “I might have an infection — they come and go out here.”

An officer cut the chain cut away from her ankle, and Malcolm asked, “What position might be most comfortable for you right now?”

“Laying down. If I can.”

The smallest movement brought a swallowed whimper from her body, and her hand rubbed her joints as Malcolm lowered her head to the soft tissue above his knees. Had they been feeding her anything? The thought of her knee and hip bones digging into the floor beneath her brought sympathy pain to his own frame.

“You’re okay,” he soothed her chocolate brown hair now streaked with uncovered greys. It was fuzzier than he remembered, from drug side effects or insufficient access to routine hair care, he wasn’t sure. Her skin was clean — nothing seemed dirty or oily, even though she’d been chained to the floor via one of the anchor points.

“Take care of him,” she urged, her hand squeezing his knee in the lightest of grasps. Her muscles were severely atrophied from her captivity.

He and Gil had been taking care of each other for four years. It was time they take care of her.

* * *

Gil’s head filled with a fog he couldn’t lift, every sound distorted as if designed to torment. Vision of his late wife ever-present, he wasn’t okay. The team was telling him she was alive, and he wasn’t okay. He’d lost it, every one of their words twisting in his mind.

But someone was tugging at him, trying to get his attention, his chest burning with unreleased anguish. He couldn’t keep air inside, every bit of it wasted as he amped up to panic again.

“Gil, breathe like you’re talking Bright through a panic attack. C’mon,” Dani tried, rubbing his back.

He couldn’t follow. Why was he so confused?

“Gil,” Dani used his name again like he would’ve forgotten it in the past minute. “We gotta wait for the paramedics. Do you think you could help Jackie stay comfortable until they get here?”

She was still giving him directions to care for his late wife even though he doubted what he was seeing. Maybe he wasn’t imagining… that didn’t make sense either. He’d already made a mess of himself — would going along with her directions make things any worse?

He crawled across the floor to sit beside her and Malcolm gently guided her head into his lap. “I’m so glad — to see you,” Gil said, nearly unable to speak as even more complicated emotions washed over him. One hand wound into her hair, and the other soothed over her arm and back. “Are you in pain?”

“I’m okay,” she said, reaching for his hand.

“You’re here,” he said in disbelief, looking over every bit of her face from her dark eyes to her soft lips that he had committed to memory. They were tired and chapped now, but those were details he chose to ignore — there was much greater concern of injury to worry about. “W-where are the — “ he started, yet his chest wheezed, taking his breath.

“Gil, paramedics are a few more minutes out,” Malcolm said, maybe from somewhere behind him.

Only then did he realize Malcolm was holding him upright while he held Jackie. Each attempt at air was a disaster, and the edges of his vision kept darkening as if it could swallow him in one fell swoop.

Things were a lot worse than he’d thought.

* * *

“Up the count to four!” Malcolm heard JT yell from down the hall. The room they were in had been cleared of all officers, even Dani, as they wrestled to comprehend what they had uncovered.

Four victims. All held in the basement of an abandoned doctor’s office masquerading as Endicott Labs. A property on the outskirts of Rochester that probably hid on a balance sheet no one ever checked. A dilapidated shell that disappeared into the background.

Was one of them Tara? In that moment, Malcolm couldn’t bring himself to pull his focus and find out, so he relied on his intuition that they’d found her instead. He had two of the most important people in his life in his arms, and he couldn’t let go. Work faded into the background as he monitored Gil’s psychological shock and ensured Jackie was as comfortable as they could keep her until the paramedics arrived.

Just as in every other aspect of their lives, Gil and Jackie drew support from each other. Gil’s panic ebbed a little bit squeezing her hand, feeling her steady pulse at her wrist. Relief came across Jackie’s eyes as Gil’s disorientation reduced to overwhelmed.

A whirlwind of paramedics arriving turned into Jackie getting assessed first, and Gil brushing away hands that attempted to assess himself. As they helped her to a stretcher, Gil stood on wobbly legs, Malcolm hanging on to him, lest he fall. Getting Gil to move from Jackie’s side was going to be a challenge. “Gil, we can try to walk, but I really think it’ll be faster if you let them wheel you out,” Malcolm said.

“I’m going with her,” Gil said firmly.

It was a demand Malcolm understood — he didn’t want Jackie out of his sight either. He also wasn’t quite as physically affected as Gil was, his friend now breathing slightly better, yet nearly ready to drop at his feet again.

“Lieutenant, how ‘bout you hold right here and help us push her out,” one of the paramedics said. Malcolm shared a glance with him in thanks, staying beside Gil the whole way to make sure he wouldn’t fall.

Moseying like a linked row of elephants, they made it into an ambulance to head to the hospital. The paramedic assured that Jackie was stable, and only then would Gil let the man take his blood pressure. His free hand shook in his lap, squeezed between his knees, the other clutching Jackie’s.

Malcolm rubbed at his eyes, noticing for the first time that he’d left tears behind. There would be time for that later, after he’d looked after everyone else.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> i've received significant support from so many people in this fandom that help make my writing possible. as this story is E, if you're 18+ and would like to chat prodigal son with wicked awesome people, come on by the [pson trash server](https://discord.gg/TVkmgxV).


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